From Kit Hill to Cotehele, via Calstock

 The weekend's longer walk was essentially the mirror image of the one we'd done last week.  Starting, as previously, in the lay-by near Kit Hill and then heading down to Cotehele Quay. A very varied route and gave us the opportunity to see some hamlets much closer than we normally do as we drive through them.

This one clocked in at 7 miles and was a mixture of footpaths, lanes and tracks. It took us through Harrowbarrow, Metherell and Norris Green and then down to the river path at Danescombe. And we made a diversion to Calstock for a tea and a bacon bap on the riverside.

The lambing season is upon us and these are the first we've seen close up. There's something quintessentially English about sheep in the meadows. It's too early to worry about any cows in the corn. 🌽 🐄 

An open shaft, but enclosed by a stout stone wall, at the East Wheal Brothers Mine. There are some who say "too dangerous, they should be filled and capped". My view is that they are an important part of the history of this part of the world and they should remain as they are. Compare how many people fall down these with how many get knocked over and killed on the roads.

Mine stack slowly being reclaimed by nature. This area had the feeling of not being known to many and being visited by far fewer.

Looking back down the track to the mining site. Just imagine how many miners took this as they walked from their homes in Harrowbarrow, Metherell etc. I find that areas like these have a definite 'spirit of place' that resonates with me. They are not happy places.

Yet another way of saying "clear up your dog crap".

We spent the rest of our walk looking for a child hopping along the road with only one welly.

Possibly the oldest house in Metherell? We think that it might have been a long house originally with, perhaps, the animal quarters, at the right-hand end of the building. One thing's for certain, it needs more than a lick of paint to bring it back to its former glory.

Just a path through the woods leading down to the Danescombe Valley.

The three storey Danescombe mill was working by 1788 when King George III was on the throne making it the first paper-mill in the Calstock area. It is believed that its power came from an overshot waterwheel supplied by a leat from a header pond which was situated at the mill’s northern end. Rags and hemp would have been transported upriver from Plymouth on sailing barges and these materials, along with local wood shavings and reeds, were then loaded into horse-drawn carts and hauled along the lane towards the mill. After soaking in a large vat and being pounded by the stamps, the mashed-up pulp was then spread onto frames then pressed and dried into sheets. This thin layer of intertwined fibre then became paper. For 70 years, coarse brown paper was also produced here along with pasteboard (So called because it is made of sheets of paper pasted together) and millboard (A stiff heavy paperboard used primarily for book covers). The mill later supplied the area with paper to help protect soft fruits when packaged. It closed in 1857.

The green alternative to being prosecuted or shot?

You can't come to Calstock without taking at least one photograph of the viaduct. It never ceases to impress me.

And you can't go to Cotehele House without taking this iconic view down the valley towards the viaduct. And the sky was blue.

To everything there is a season. And the season for snowdrops has passed and the season for daffodils is just about on us. Give it another week or so and this lawn will be filled with a veritable horde of daffodils. Enough to inspire any passing poet?

A walk down Silver Valley to Cotehele Quay.

 A new route for us for this linear walk, from a lay-by at the back of Kit Hill and down to Cotehele Quay. We did a shuttle with both our cars. And the sun shone all the way!

We started at a lay-by on the A390 Callington - Gunnislake road and dropped down to Cotehele Quay on a mixture of tracks, footpaths and quiet lanes. It came out at just under 5 miles and had a mid-walk uphill stretch that give it a little spice.

To the right of the footpath as we descended was the top of an old chimney in a wooded valley - Silver Valley. This was the site of the Wheal Brothers mine. It was first opened about 1810 under the name of Wheal Duchy. When prospecting for copper ore, a rich lode of silver ore was found. Wheal Duchy was closed in 1816, but was reopened in 1833, and called Wheal Brothers. When the 30 fathom level (There are two yards (6 feet) in an imperial fathom. Originally the span of a man's outstretched arms) was investigated, a quantity of silver ore was found in previous excavations. The previous owners had apparently not recognised it as silver ore. And within three months nearly £6000 worth of silver ore had been produced. Hence the name Silver Valley for this area.

It's becoming quite rare to see vintage horse-drawn agricultural machinery. This piece was used to rake grass during hay making, as evidenced by the long tines/teeth at the back. The rake teeth dragged along the ground collecting the cut hay. When the teeth were full they were lifted which left the hay in a pile. More hay was then added to the pile, or windrow with each pass. A windrow is a row of cut (mown) hay or small grain crop. It is allowed to dry before being baled, combined, or rolled. 

Just one of the lanes we walked along. What took my eye on this stretch was the green of the moss that covered the sides.

The green lane coming up from Barrett's Mill. It was quite a climb and was, perhaps, a route of direct access from various farms to the mill. The mill used water from the Morden Stream, which serviced a few other mills, including Cotehele Mill, on its way down to the Tamar.

We don't often see Kit Hill from this side - the east side. This is reputed to be the sunnier, drier side as it doesn't get the full force of the westerlies that affect the other side more. By other side, I really mean 'our' side.

A way marker for the St Dominica Heritage Trail, a circular route starting and ending at the church in St Dominick. The entire route is just under 7 miles and we walked just a couple of miles of it. But we have walked all of it a couple of times in the past.

It is the time of year when the Lesser Celandine really starts getting into its stride. A lovely member of the Buttercup family, and its bright yellow star-like flowers are a sign that spring is definitely well under way. I particularly like their glossy, dark-green, heart-shaped leaves which are quite tasty if you want a natural nibble.

'Tis the season for daffodils and in this part of the world, they grow in profusion and are very common inhabitants of the roadside. Many of them were originally discards from the commercial fields that were once plentiful in the Tamar Valley. These are some doubles. In a 20 - 30 yard stretch of this lane heading towards St Dominick, I counted some seven or eight different varieties but, as far as I could tell, no natural 'wild' daffodils.

Oh, how I laughed after I realised it was me in the mirror and not the stranger I had said "good morning" to.

Two of my very favourite things: Mrs P and walking in the fresh air. Lucky me. This is the stream which fed Radland Mill.

And we finish at Cotehele Quay with the tide just about on the turn. Is there a more tranquil spot than this? Even better during lockdown when there are fewer people around. An ideal spot for refreshments from the pop-up kiosk there. I had a curried cauliflower pasty - not a combination made in heaven. We'll chalk that one up as an experience not to be repeated in a hurry.

The Shamrock is the last remaining Tamar barge or ketch, the last of a line of ships that plied their trade up and down the Tamar from Plymouth and Saltash. It dates from the late 1890s and has been moored at Cotehele Quay for some 40 years. Prior to the Covid crisis, it was laid up for some major repairs. These were not completed and, sadly, the funds have dried up. To compound this, several of the key craftsman involved in its restoration have recently retired. What all this means for the future of The Shamrock is unknown at the moment but it would be a great shame if it ended up decaying on the quay.

Animated Ancestors

 In a recent post (herqe), I mentioned that I was not entirely convinced with the application of Artificial Intelligence (AI) to colourising monochrome photographs. My main reservation were that, despite being beguilingly real, the colours were completely artificial and probably did not bear any relationship to the way it was when the photograph was taken. But, then again, perhaps some of them do. Who knows. The pedantic purist would dismiss such embellishments as fripperies. Me? I take a more pragmatic view. For some photographs, colourisation just does not add anything. For others, it definitely adds something and quite often that something is 'life'. For these, the addition of colour lifts the subject matter and gives it more depth. 

Recently, the My Heritage website has added another gizmo to enrage the purists - the ability to take a photograph and add some animation to the features of those depicted. Again, it's artificial and, at best, can be described at 'augmented reality'. I've tried it on a few old photographs and, like colourisation, it adds something to some and not a lot to others. Here are a few examples for your entertainment. 

These are my great grandparents, George and Emma Parsons. I think this photograph was taken in the garden of their home in Hove, around 1920.

The same photograph after processing it with the My Heritage colourisation gizmo. I think this is a good example of where the addition of colour works - for me, at least. The above photograph acts as input into the animation process. This only animates the heads of the subjects, and with a limited range of movements and gestures, but does allow them to be saved and displayed separately. Below are the individual files for George and Emma.

My verdict? For George and Emma, the animation works and gives them another dimension. Not quite completely life like but good enough to make them human. I think it makes them look very pleasant and that's the way they were described to me by my father, who had very few memories of them. Just imagine what they would have made of all this.

The software raises all sort of issues with regards to privacy and its possible use to manipulate images for malacious purposes, particularly to produce the so-called 'deep fake' animations that can be used to deceive and misinform. In recognition of this, My Heritage does not allow any 'voice overs'. But, if you want, these can be added without too many problems.

Personally, I draw the line at animating anyone living, without their express permission, or anyone in my immediate family. But, I exclude myself..

The original untouched photograph of the 'Bryn Fedw Gang' taken in Bedwas around 1956. I was 8 or 9 at the time and I'm the one in the middle.

The same photograph after a little cleaning up in Photoshop followed by colourisation. I like it and it brings my old friends back to life, albeit a little pinker than we all were. I suspect the colours are probably not too far out as I don't remember our clothes as being highly coloured.

I've run the Bryn Fedw Gang through the animation programme and just saved what it's made out of my image. I wonder what my mother would have thought of the likeness? It looks reasonable to me.

Sunday afternoon stroll through the Cotehele Estate

Well, well, well, the afternoon was drier than expected so we took ourselves off for a constitutional around parts of the Cotehele Estate. Starting at the quay, we followed the Morden Stream up past the Mill to what used to be the weir (washed away around Xmas last), thence to the house and garden and back down via the riverside path. it's one we've done many, many times and one that we've enjoyed through all the seasons. This time around, we were surprised by the number of small streams that had appeared as a result of the recent rains. For most of the walk, we were accompanied by the sounds of running water. Very pleasant. And we'll start off with a video clip of the Morden Stream up by the site of the weir.

Cotehele House from the front. Funnily enough, we only seem to go into the house when we've got visitors.

Drifts of crocuses everywhere, pretty much at their best. OK, this is a trio rather than a drift. Trio? Drift? Whatever. They still look attractive.

The snowdrops were passed their best but I did get a couple of decent shots. If I were pushed to name my favourite flower, it could very well be the snowdrop,

Some more snowdrops. That's almost it until this time next year.

The courtyard. Nice and quiet as the Covid restrictions mean that entrance to the gardens is restricted to locals walking. Suits us but then when we normally walk - late afternoon, early evening - there are relatively few people around anyway.

The island in the pond at the Upper Garden. At this time of year, the coloured stems of the dogwood really stand out. Not too sure about the black Ophiopogon, though. I guess it's there as a contrast to the snowdrops. In theory, it should work: in practice, nah.

The house from the rear. The daffodils are not out yet but the flowerless clumps give a good idea of how many there will be when they do. A little part of me would like the lockdown to last long enough for us to seem them at their best without the hassle of the usual crowds when this happens.

We never tire of this view of the Calstock Viaduct. And the sky is almost, but not quite, blue.

The riverside chapel with a glimpse of the viaduct to the right.

And we finish with more water, the cascade down through the Himalayan Glade in the bottom garden. For most of the year, this is obscured by the Gunnera that grows in profusion. With this tinkling in our ears, we reach the end of another delightful stroll. Boo hoo, we couldn't finish with a drink as the refreshment kiosk down on the quay was 'card only'. Quelle domage.

A tale of two sisters

My colourisation experiment today features a photograph from over ninety years ago of two girls posing in a seaside studio with a parasol. The photograph was taken in Brighton on the breezy south coast of England, where parasols tend to be confined to the photographers' studio. The date of the photograph I estimate as 1929 or there about. The young girl on the right of the picture, as we look at it, is my dad's cousin, Audrey Kent and the one on the left is her sister Zeili. I met them several times when I was young but really can't remember that much about them. I know Zeili had a fixation on collecting stamps for charity, even to the extent of cutting stamps off birth, marriage and death certificates, much to my chagrin as she also clipped out useful information on some. Audrey was, by all accounts, quite an accomplished ballet dancer and ran a ballet school in Brighton for many years. Her most famous students were the daughters of Lawrence Olivier and Joan Plowright. Neither Zeili nor Audrey married and they lived together for most of their lives. They look very close in the photograph and I think the colourised version highlights the spark in Audrey's character.

A little bit of colour

I still can't make my mind up about AI. 

Artificial intelligence (AI) colourising programmes are all the rage: smart little apps where you can feed a monochrome image in at one end, and a beautifully realistic full-colour rendition emerges from the other end. To be honest, sometimes it is beautiful, sometimes realistic and sometimes it is colourful, but rarely all three. And sometimes it has the look of the kind of thing a three-year old, fed too much chocolate and given too many coloured crayons, would produce. I get to thinking that the old, faded, and bleached-out vision of faces from a bygone era is more lifelike than some daisy-fresh technicolour dream. And then I feed another old Victorian pasteboard photo into the AI machine and see life emerge, and it takes me back to the thrill I used to get when black and white images would slowly emerge from a dish of developer solution. And that was a thrill that is still vivid to me. I keep promising myself that, one day, I'll go back to wet film techniques.

As I say, I can't make my mind up about AI. I will spend the day with these two colourful but unknown Victorian girls (from a collection of old photographs I have of relatives from Sussex) and see what they say about artificial intelligence.

Lockdown 3 Walks: #2: Kit Hill Circular

Our second Lockdown 3 walk in our locality. We hear and obey Mr Wankcock

This one was just up the road from us and was a circumnavigation around the top of Kit Hill. At just over two miles, it's was a stroll to fill a Saturday afternoon gap. And a walk with panoramic 360 views of sea, moors and Plymouth Sound...

...Except for today, when the mist was down and the visibility was poor. OK, not good for one of the senses but excellent for another. The mist deadens sounds and adds another dimension to an otherwise familiar route. Here are a few lines from the poem, Pearl Fog, by Carl Sandburg. They seem to be very appropriate:
"Open the door now.
Go roll up the collar of your coat
To walk in the changing scarf of mist".

The weak and watery winter sun above the stack at South Kit Hill Mine. I like the unknown walkers emerging from the mist.

The top of the Incline, normally an impressive view of a relic of industrial archaeology.

Just a tree with a rather unnaturally green coating of moss. Was it really this colour? I certainly don't remember it like this.

The silent frozen flooded quarry. Turn back the clock, say 150 years, and this would have been a noisy industrial scene with blasting and hammering taking place and chisels skilfully shaping the granite on site.

Judging by the broken pieces we could see, the ice was about an inch thick. Not thick enough for ice-skating.

Another tree in the mist. The conditions seem to accentuate their shape. As Lemm Sissay just said on a TV programme we are watching (Winter Walks on BBC4), bare leaved trees look as if there are rooting in the sky. And, he's right, they do.

Kit Hill has a very important archaeological landscape, with significant prehistoric activity and a rich and highly visible mining heritage. Even apparent holes in the ground are probably part of this, either as a sign of localised working of granite outcrops or, perhaps, an association with early mining efforts. And most of the holes are listed and recorded as archaeological sites in their own right,

Mrs P disappearing into the mist. "Now where's our car?"